


Disconsolate

by teh_gelfling



Series: Prowl/Red [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Slash, Triggery Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt: tf_rare_pairing weekly request prompt: August 11, 2013 – Red Alert/Prowl – distressed</p><p>Notes: Gods, this is depressing. D= I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. Also, while the prompt is a weekly request prompt, I've only just now gotten around to writing it. And I think I'm going to be writing responses to several other prompts from the comm with this pairing because I now ship them almost as much as I ship Ratchet/Prowl. This is terrible because I'm supposed to be working on my thing for the extreme big bang.</p><p>If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Disconsolate

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: tf_rare_pairing weekly request prompt: August 11, 2013 – Red Alert/Prowl – distressed
> 
> Notes: Gods, this is depressing. D= I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. Also, while the prompt is a weekly request prompt, I've only just now gotten around to writing it. And I think I'm going to be writing responses to several other prompts from the comm with this pairing because I now ship them almost as much as I ship Ratchet/Prowl. This is terrible because I'm supposed to be working on my thing for the extreme big bang.
> 
> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

Doorwings drooped painfully low. “I... see.” Prowl shut his mouth with a faintly audible _click_ , optics dimming noticeably before they dropped to look at his hands, which were folded in his lap. His spark gave a pained throb. A couple of moments passed in uncomfortable silence, then the tactician rose sharply, nodded to the medic in front of him, and made his way out of the medbay before he could be stopped.

He was thankful for his logic matrix; it allowed him to push aside all emotions for a time in order to focus, distancing himself and freeing him to make difficult, life-or-death decisions without the emotional slag. He was hardly using it for its intended purpose at the moment, but he _needed_ to reach somewhere private before he lost control. The mechs under his command could not see that. Watching their chief tactician and Second in Command have a complete break-down in the corridor would be horrible for morale.

He reached his quarters and swiftly slipped inside before Jazz, who was be-bopping to his internal soundtrack down the corridor toward Prowl, could call out and interrupt him. He was in no condition for socialising with the jovial mech, or anyone, really. The door hissed closed behind him and he leant back heavily against it, the hard metal unforgiving on his doorwings. It gave him an immediate physical pain to focus on instead of the ache in his spark.

The pain actually felt good.

After some time of indulging in the sensations assaulting him, he pulled himself away from the door and to his desk. There was a veritable mountain of data-work on the surface, but he ignored it in favour of opening his scheduling programme and making several adjustments, then firing off a message to the senior officers on base, letting them know he was taking leave for the next two orns. No details. No explanation of any kind. He was simply off-duty unless the base was being attacked.

Within a breem, he heard the pings of multiple replies received. Likely, they were inquiries on the brevity of his message and, more likely, the nature of his leave. Neither was like him and he knew it. He just couldn't bring himself to care.

He ignored them all.

Prowl trudged into the small berthroom, each step feeling slower and heavier than the last. His logic matrix shut down suddenly, the sheer volume of emotion far too much for it to handle, and he tripped over his feet at the surge. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing that he'd landed on the berth or not. Perhaps the floor would have been better. At least it would have hurt.

One arm curled tightly about his waist while the other clawed at the armour on his chest as the pain in his spark overwhelmed him. Pale blue tears of cleansing fluid tracked down his face as his frame was racked with hard sobs. _Primus, why?_

A keening wail rose to fill the room, its sole occupant lost in his grief.

***

“Prowl! Prowl, please.”

The Praxian's optics opened and lit, though dimly, managing to lock onto the face hovering above his own.

Optics lightened to white in his distress, Red Alert's expression was nearing the complete meltdown stage of panic. It relaxed minutely when he saw that Prowl was still among the functional. “Prowl, what happened? You changed the schedule without any kind of notice, and then just abruptly informed everyone that you're on leave. Just like that, no warning, not even to me! All responses are ignored; you didn't even _look_ at any of them! This is not you!”

Fresh tears spilled from dim, blue optics. Silver lips moved but no sound emerged. He curled in on himself, longing to be held and comforted, yet at the same time afraid of his lover's reaction to the cause of his pain. He had to tell, though. Red Alert needed to know.

“I...” he whispered. “I lost it. The sparkling. I'm sorry. So sorry.”

Red's frame stiffened and his spark stuttered. His mouth dropped open. “No... Prowl, no. Ratchet can–”

The white helm shook slowly back and forth. “Ratchet told me. It's _gone_. Back to the Well. And it _hurts_ , Red. So much. I'm sorry.” He murmured apologies over and over as tears slipped down his cheeks unchecked.

Red gathered the black and white into a tight embrace, his EM field echoing that of the other, stroking smooth armour soothingly. His engine purred quiet comfort to the distraught mech. “Prowl. It is _not your fault_. It's awful, but I still love you. We-we'll get through this. Somehow.”

He rested his cheek on his lover's helm as tears fell from his own optics, continuing to hold him and offer what solace he could, small though it may be.

“Somehow.”


End file.
